All I was doing was Breathing
by lokandgot
Summary: Sometimes when the world may seem like it's fallen apart, things are actually just fallin' in place. So whatever has got you cryin' and on this plane, there is something better waiting for you just on the other side." Or The one where the purchase of a simple plane ticket to a country halfway across the world can change the course of Clarke's life forever.


It was crowded. Insufferably so. Hundreds of people milling around. Every shape, size, race, age. All mixing together to form a melting pot of travel anxiety. Hard hands pushed and shoved their ways through the crowds, while polite coughs and whispered 'excuse me's got them nowhere. It all meshed into a swirling mess of people just trying to get through the crowded walk ways. Trying to find their final destinations. Trying to be heard over the clamor and constant hum that echoed through the cold metal halls. Conversations were yelled over the tops of heads or whispered loudly into waiting ears. The angry tones of businessmen, in their pressed suits and shining shoes, complaining about their delayed flights. And eager children fighting their droopy eyes whined, asking "are we there yet?"

It seemed alive. It was thrumming with people and activity after all. But it was all so suffocating to Clarke. And she wanted nothing more than to just get out of the godforsaken city. To go back home. No. Not her expensive upscale flat that her mom bought for her as an apology gift. No. Her real home. The one with the dented wall where she fell riding her bike in the house. The one with her height marks scratched messily into the doorframe of their pantry. The one with the bright smiles and the light hearts.

She missed the red shutters and the bright blue door. She missed the sway of the trees in her backyard on a particularly windy day. She missed the way it smelled just before it rained, a smell that was just so Oregon. A smell that could never be replicated. She missed the quiet din of the ever constant rain that would patter on their roof. She missed the cricket's quiet music and the way the stars twinkled for her when she would stretch out in her backyard, staring into the endless expanse of space.

She missed Portland and the nights she spent with her friends. She missed how a thirty minute drive in any direction out of the city led to flowing rivers and valleys, soaring trees and mountains, thirsty deserts and dehydrated sage. She missed all of it. Because it was the best place. It was the place of her childhood. The place where she grew up. The place where she conquered her fears and dreamed her biggest dreams. It was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

Now she can't even think of her _home_ without feeling like she is choking. Because every memory of that home, her true _home_ , the only place that ever really felt like home, ceased being a home the day her mom called her, choked by uncontrollable sobs, saying that her dad was gone. The day she was told the worst news of her life.

Because the house with the red shutters and the blue door. With the soaring pines and the lazy creek. The tire swing hanging from the branch of the biggest tree. Stopped being her home when she no longer walked into the door and her father's smile, the brightest she had ever seen, was no long there to great her with a "Hiya, sweetheart, how was your day?"

No. It was no longer her home.

And moving to this city only made it worse. Because even two thousand eight hundred and seven miles away, in the capital of the country, Clarke still felt the weight of his death on her heart. The one that never left. The one that was an ever constant pressure just below her ribs, that she could never seem to assuage, never seem to rid herself of.

And despite her mother's best efforts to start over- following her daughter as she travelled off to college to begin a fresh slate in the grandest city in the US- Clarke still hated it. Especially, this one. The stinking, gum covered streets and the ever insistent honking from the yellow cabs that flooded the streets, had clawed and scraped at Clarke's bones until she just couldn't take it any longer. She couldn't take the pitied looks from her classmates, the saddened looks from the friends who had travelled to DC with her for college, or the constant worried messages from her mother asking if she had taken her medicine that day.

It was all just too much. Too, too much. It buried deep within her and clogged her pores and clogged her soul. It filled her with grief and anger and hatred. It built and built and built until she felt like she would explode. And she did, eventually. She yelled and screamed and cried and yelled some more. It had tipped and poured out of her, begging to be free from the prison that was her damaged soul.

She just wanted to be free. She wanted to be free from this burden. She just wanted to take one godforsaken breath without feeling like her lungs were bleeding and that her heart was shattering with each gulp she took.

And so she left.

She got up in the middle of her anatomy professor's lecture, earning glares and soft gasps of shock. She left her books and bag behind, not bothering to even look back when the professor called out to her. And she ran. She sprinted to her apartment, grabbed the few articles of clothing that didn't remind her of that awful day and tossed them into her dingy duffle bag. She flipped open her laptop and bought the earliest and cheapest ticket. It didn't matter where it was to, all that mattered was that she was going to get out of there. She scribbled a quick note to her roommates and she fled.

And now here she was. Standing dumbly in the middle of the airport. Being jostled around by hurried travelers, grumbling about her being in the way. And still, still she was suffocating. And she was exhausted. And she was dying on the inside. And she just wanted to be _free_. But as she glanced at the ticket in her hand, a brief spark of hope flooded into her because maybe, just maybe this was her chance. This was her chance to let finally let go. To finally breathe.

The plane was stuffy and stale. In hindsight, perhaps Clarke should have packed more than just her phone, laptop, and sketchbook to entertain herself with. She did have a seven hour flight and relatively nothing to do, but suffer in the overflow of thoughts that were swirling around in her mind. It briefly flitted across her mind that perhaps this wasn't the best idea, but when she pulled out her phone and had a series of unread messages from her mother, she knew this was the right thing to do. Mustering the brightest smile she could manage, she pushed past a stewardess, made her way to row twenty-three seat A, and turned on airplane mode on her phone, completely ignoring the messages she got. A pang of guilt shot through her briefly, stopping her dead in her tracks. She rubbed just below her collar bone hoping to sooth away the emotion, trying her best to ignore the impatient huffs coming from the woman behind her. Once the ache had sufficiently settled away she gripped tighter at her backpack and shuffled along the aisle.

The aisle seat was taken, so with a quiet sorry she pushed past her flying buddy and sat down, a massive sigh escaping her lungs the minute she touched down. She really had no interest in talking to the woman next to her, despite how friendly she looked, so she pulled out her headphones and tugged them over her ears. They are mercifully sound cancelling and the endless droning of people finding their seats and the safety instruction from the flight attendants never reaches Clarke's ears.

The plane roars to life and soon they are speeding along the runway. Almost instinctually her eyes are drawn to the window, to the world outside. She watches as the cars and trees slowly become nothing but tiny specks. As they become insignificant features tarnishing the earth. A twinge of triviality hits her. In a world so big with so many problems, her family issues don't really seem like that big of a deal. She is just a tiny human with tiny problems corrupting the earth more than she should be. Clouding the planet with her issues when she could be helping it. When she could be making the world a better place.

She lets out a sigh and brushes a hand through messy golden locks. Now, really isn't the time to have an existential crisis about not doing her part to help people. She has enough problems on her plate right now. Like the fact that she is on a flight to a country halfway across the world where she doesn't know anybody. Sighing again she resumes her staring, because doing nothing was far better than thinking about why she was this stupid plane in the first place.

She's about an hour in of aimlessly staring when she can feel her eyes starting to droop shut. A peaceful darkness settles over her and for a brief shining moment she has a moment of reprieve. It's the moment right before falling into a deep slumber. The moment where there is true weightlessness because there is simply nothing floating through the expanses of the mind.

And it's these glimmering seconds that Clarke truly cherishes because these are the only times that she can actually feel fine. Where she actually feels _alive_ again. And maybe it is too much to ask to just have this feeling all the time because soon enough dreams of her father and his last dying breath accost her mind and when she jolts awake she can feel silent tears streaming down her face.

Hastily, she wipes at the affronting moisture silently cursing herself, because not even in her sleep can she have peace. Not even in her dreams can she be free.

There is a soft tap on her shoulder and she looks over, pulling her headphones off, wiping the last tear from her face. The woman next to her has a soft smile on her face, but her eyes betray her. For they only show sadness and a pity that Clarke has become all too accustomed to.

"Are you alright darlin'?" she asks in a thick southern accent.

Clarke nods, a knee jerk reaction, when she knows she is anything but fine, "Yes. I'm, okay," she whispers, the shake in her voice betraying her words.

The woman eyes her skeptically, "Well, those tears are telling me otherwise," she points towards Clarke's face, "Now, I won't pry because I was raised to mind my own business," Clarke's brow raises minutely because she doubts that this woman has ever minded her business in her entire life, "But a pretty girl such as yourself shouldn't be cryin'. So I guess I'll just leave you with a little advice. Something I learned from my poppa when I was a youngster." An instant ache settles deep in Clarke's chest as she watches the woman's face soften as she recalls the memory of her father, "He told me that sometimes when the world may seem like it's fallen apart, things are actually just fallin' in place. So whatever has got you cryin' and on this plane, there is something better waiting for you just on the other side," she winked at Clarke, before turning back to her magazine.

She swallows thickly, because how could anything good come out of her father's death. How could anything good come out of… she can't even finish the thought. And it hurts to even think about trying to look at the positives of the situation because from where Clarke is sitting there is no bright side. This life, her life, was ruined that day.

It was bright outside when she stepped off the plane. A stark contrast from the gloomy gray days that dominated the winter months in D.C. She glances around, swinging her bag onto her shoulder, and follows the signs to the baggage claim. At least she had enough common sense to pick a country that spoke English- makes navigating places a lot easier.

Picking her way through the crowd that had congregated around the small conveyor toting around various bags she spots her beaten up duffle, grabs it, and hefts it up on her shoulder. Pushing her way back through the other travelers she made her way outside. The air was crisp, forcing a slight shiver through her, but otherwise it was quite comfortable and the sunshine only made it better. She took a moment, closing her eyes and tipping her head back, absorbing all the glorious rays. Taking a deep breath she relished in the slight burn of the morning air as it ripped through her lungs. It was deliciously painful.

God, this felt good. Maybe it was because for the first time in a long time she actually felt like she could breathe or maybe it was because she had travelled halfway across the world with no true plan in mind. A spur of the moment trip. Or maybe it was the recklessness of her actions, making this adventure exciting, _freeing_ almost. The fact that she had no itinerary, no rules, she could do whatever the hell she wanted and that excited her.

For once she wouldn't be under the watchful eye of her mother, deciding and planning her future out for her, and that, _that_ was exciting.

Opening her eyes she took in her surroundings more fully. Tiny and dinged up cars scuttled along the rather beaten up road and a few people meandered past her, calling out for taxis or hoping into cars waiting for them by the curb. She was just about to hail a cab when a body slammed into her.

She had to hold her gag when a foul smelling man, looked up at her, "Sorry, ma'am," he said tipping his hat slightly and smiling, exposing the last of his four yellowing, rotting front teeth. Clarke held her breath as she shook off the man's apology. Man, he really, really needed a bath, and perhaps to burn his clothing because there was no way a good wash would even be close to fixing that odor.

She watched him scamper off, a slight bounce in his step, before she waved her hand out, flagging down a taxi. A small and dinged up Saab that had to have been from the 80's pulled up and Clarke hopped into the back.

A giant of a man turned around and looked at her. Twin massive blue tattoos covered the sides of his face. He eyed her for a second and it flitted across Clarke's mind that this man might actually kill her. But then his face broke out into a huge smile,

"Where to, lass?"

A laugh bubbled up in Clarke's throat. It burned slightly and it hurt her stomach, but she didn't mind. Because if she was being honest with herself this was the first time in a long time that she had truly laughed. This man was nothing more than a giant teddy bear. And the way his soft brown eyes crinkled as he laughed along with her only added to this.

But in the next second her chuckle choked out into a strangled sob. Because she had no answer for him. Because suddenly his simple question felt so loaded. Because she had no idea where she was going. She had no idea what she was doing. And as the tears sprung to her eyes, she had to look away from.

She could see her own reflection in the slightly fogged window and she couldn't even recognize herself. Sure, blue eyes stared back at her, but they weren't the same lively ones that had once thrived when her father was alive. No. These were a paling into a dull gray. Cloudy and dying in the anger and sadness that just never went away. And she hated how one look at herself, made her realize just how lost she truly was.

A soft clearing of a throat pulled her back and she managed a small glance at her driver. "I-I… I don't actually know," she squeaked out. Disgust floated through her at the weakness of her own voice.

It was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice thick with a Scottish accent, "Well, lass, I think I know exactly where you need to be." He reached out his hand, a soft smile on his face, "I'm Gustus, but everyone calls me Gus." Clarke took his hand and he squeezed it gently. Warmth radiated from his massive, paw of a hand, and it was strangely calming.

"Clarke."

"Well, Clarke, I can tell you aren't from around these parts."

A small rasp of a laugh left her, "What gave it away?"

Gus smiled back at her, "Surprisingly, it was the blonde hair."

That made Clarke laugh a little harder. "But I think I know just the place. Do you have a place to stay?" he asked, eyeing her single bag quickly.

Clarke sighed and wiped the remaining tears from her eyes, "No," she whispered.

"Well," he clapped his hands together, "Why don't I give you a little tour of the city and then we can get you settled into some place nice."

Clarke reached out and took his hand again, giving it a tight squeeze, "That sounds wonderful, Gustus. Thank you."

He smiled at her, "Not a problem, lass."

They drove around for what seemed like hours, Gustus pointing out random landmarks or good places to eat. Asking simple questions that never pried too far into Clarke's life. And in return she asked him about his life. Why he was a cab driver, what he did before hand, if he was married. It was a wonderful distraction.

But as the sun started to set in the sky and Clarke released a yawn, Gustus decided to call it a quits for the day.

Pulling his car into a drive way, Gustus jumped out and opened her door with a flourished bow, before Clarke could even grip the door handle.

She let out a small snicker, "Why thank you, kind sir."

He smiled at her before taking her bag, "Not a problem, lass."

He fumbled around with his keychain before he propped his door open, ushering Clarke inside.

"Anya? Penn? Art? You here?" he yelled out into the house.

It was only a second before loud thumping came from upstairs and excited squeals roared down the stairwell. Despite his size, Gustus almost fell over as two small boys barreled into his legs.

"Daddy!" He lifted the two up with ease and planted a kiss on both of their foreheads.

"And how are you two today?"

The boys squirmed and laughed again as he tried to give them another kiss.

"Ew, Daddy," the smaller one said, gripping his tiny hand's around his father's beard.

Tears instantly sprang into her eyes. She felt like she had been shot. Pain radiated through her whole body. Her heart beating a painful, bloody beat.

Gustus reminded her so much of her father.

"And who is this?" Clarke tore her wet eyes away from them and focused on the woman before her. She had strikingly beautiful cheek bones, though her eyes seemed to be digging and probing for any information she could just from Clarke's appearance.

"Ah," Gustus set the boys down before pulling the woman in for a kiss, "Hiya, sweetheart," he said softly. And suddenly it wasn't a giant bearded man standing before her. It was a man with soft blue eyes and floppy dusty blonde hair. A smile plastered on his face, "Hiya, sweetheart," fluttering from his lips.

A small sob escaped her lips and never in her life had she wanted anything more than to just be curled up in her bed. Hidden from the world. Allowed to cry in the silence of her room. Allowed to let her pain show.

A heavy hand settled on her shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze and Clarke, forced herself to look away. Her eyes boring into the ground. Tears flowing freely down her face.

Gustus gave her another squeeze before continuing, "An, this is Clarke. She'll be joining us for dinner and she'll be staying the night. I'm going to be taking her out to Castlebar tomorrow."

Anya's brow quirked slightly, "Castlebar, really?"

Gustus's face broke with a small grin, as he gave her a small hum of agreement, "I think it'll be just the place for Clarke."

Anya was silent for a moment before she asked Gustus to take the boys to go wash up.

Heart stinging, the blonde barely noticed it when Anya carefully took her chin in her hand and raised her face. Her thumb swiped through a tear track before she spoke softly, "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you some supper."

Clarke rubbed her overly full stomach, her eyes drifting to the ceiling. She had no idea what Anya made, the name slipping from her mind, but damn it was good. A silent burp slipped past her lips as she settled further into the couch. It wasn't the most comfortable of sleeping arrangements- her legs were hanging off the edge- but it would work. And it was far better than any cold, lonely, lifeless hotel would be.

She couldn't describe it, but the way that Anya and Gustus had opened their home up to her- a complete stranger- filled Clarke until she felt like her heart would burst from being too full. It hadn't been this full with this much compassion and kindness in such a long time, that it surprised her that her heart even remembered what it felt like to be cared for by someone again.

It was almost as if her father was alive again.

She let out a trembling sigh, pursing her lips, as she felt her eyes watering again. The whole purpose of this trip was so that she wouldn't think about her father. And there had hardly been a moment when she wasn't thinking about him.

Rolling over she pulled her phone out of its pocket in her backpack. She turned off airplane mode and she was certain the device would explode with the number of messages, missed calls, and voicemails she received.

"Shit," she mumbled. She should probably call and let them know she was alive. She did leave rather unceremoniously. And her rather cryptic message of, "I just need to breathe again" probably didn't ease their anxiety at her sudden disappearance.

She punched in the ever familiar number into her phone and it rang for a few seconds before someone picked up.

"Clarke?" a panicked voice rang out.

She swallowed the thick lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat, "Yea, Raven, I'm here."

"Fuck, Clarke," the girl breathed relieved, before yelling, "Octavia! Octavia get your ass in here! It's Clarke."

There was muffled yelling and a rather loud thump and some colorful swearing before another voice echoed through the staticky call.

"Clarke, holy fuck. Where the fuck are you?" Octavia practically yelled.

Clarke retched the phone away from her ear, before peering around her surroundings. She placed the phone back to her ear and spoke quietly into the receiver, "Honestly, I'm not sure."

"Clarke, please. We are worried sick. We need to know. Are you alright?" Pain radiated off of Raven's voice and Clarke's stomach plummeted.

"Just tell us where you are, Clarke and we will come pick you up," Octavia pleaded.

Clarke couldn't help the snort that escaped her, "I don't think you can pick me up from this one you guys."

Octavia swore again and she could practically see the girl. She could see her standing abruptly from their dingy craigslist couch, causing Raven to look at her. She could see her pace their tiny apartment as she roughly tugged her hands through her messy hair.

"I'm in Dublin," she whispered.

"What? Clarke that's like a six hour drive. We can totally pick you up."

Clarke laughed again, "No, O, I'm in Dublin, Ireland."

The line was silent for some time before Raven spoke so softly that Clarke almost missed her name, almost missed how it dripped with sadness and of things unsaid, "Clarke."

She didn't hold it back this time as the tears broke through the dams of her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, leaving shining trails down her puffy cheeks.

She knew she hurt them. She knew that all they wanted to do was help. But some things, _some things_ , she had to fix on her own. And she would not drag her friends down with her. She refused to ruin their lives too. Because it was far better to distance herself from them now, than to let them suffer later on.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling, "B-But I-I… I just couldn't breathe. I-I couldn't hurt you even more."


End file.
